New Wellies

Tags

Le Chameau, wellies

Old Wellies

It’s strange to become attached to clothes and footwear but I think most of us, at some point, have had a feeling of sentimentality to a favourite piece of clothing. Wellyman had a long, wool overcoat that he loved despite it being known as the ‘flasher coat’, not, I hasten to add because of any weird predilection for availing passers-by with more than they wanted to see. It was a name given to the coat by a friend of his because it did look a little like the sort of coat someone up to no good would wear. It had been his grandad’s when he was in his early twenties and Wellyman had rediscovered it in the loft one day.

The problem came, of course, when the coat, which was by now over 60 years old, started to look a little worn. Holes were appearing but still I couldn’t persuade him to replace it. The death knell for the coat though was mould. Even he had to admit it was finally time for a new coat. Finding a replacement that feels as good and fits as well is the challenge though and it probably makes us cling onto our beloved clothes that little bit longer than we should.

When I discovered my wellies leaked a few weeks ago I thought finding new ones would be a frustrating experience. I’d grown stupidly quite attached to my little green boots. The easiest solution would have been to simply replace them with another pair of Hunters. These ones had lasted me 7 years and had been worn pretty much every day. They had coped well with baking sunshine, freezing weather and snow and, of course, copious amounts of rain. From the plot and garden to the beach and the hills around our home they had certainly been well used, to the extent there was hardly any grip left on the soles. So I was more than happy to replace like for like but then, just as Wellyman was about to order a pair for my birthday, we had a tip off that Hunters were no longer made in Scotland and that they had changed the manufacturing process. After trawling the internet it did appear this was the case and that, as a result, the quality had suffered. Whether this is true or not I don’t know but there were certainly a lot of people complaining about their recently purchased wellies.

Not prepared to take the risk the quest for new wellies began. Twitter and blog friends were generous with their suggestions and advice. There are so many wellies to choose from now, it’s quite incredible. There’s tartan or leopard patterned wellies, neoprene-lined super warm wellies and gorgeous but expensive leather ones which require a phone call to the bank manager before purchase. The choice felt a little overwhelming. There is only so much you can glean from the internet anyway. I much prefer to try before I buy, especially with clothes or shoes. Whilst the internet is great for many things the impact on our high streets saddens me.

However, I needn’t have worried. My welly search meant I discovered a local country store that I hadn’t known existed, with friendly, helpful staff. Their selection didn’t included a vast array of patterns or colours; green or black was the extent of the palette and there wasn’t a wedge welly in sight. This was a place for serious wellies.

New Wellies

And so it’s au revoir to my Hunters (I’m going to keep them for when I do outdoor painting jobs) and bonjour to my Le Chameaus. They came highly recommended, are a great fit for my narrow feet and super comfy. Most importantly though they don’t leak and have amazing grips on them, so no more unintentional acrobatic routines on the muddy paths at the allotment.

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Manure Envy and a Leaky Welly

Tags

Charles Dowding, manure, organic matter, wellies

Manure envy

It’s funny what you start to covet when you become a gardener. Rather like when you move into your first home and you get excited about the arrival of the shiny new washing machine. No? Come on . . . . oh OK, that was just me then. But I bet there aren’t many gardeners out there that haven’t got excited at the sight of their own home made compost.

It wasn’t until I got my allotment 2 years ago that the quest for organic matter, and lots of it, really started. The problem I’ve found is there is never enough of the stuff. I have 2 compost heaps which take waste from the garden, the plot and any kitchen waste but it’s not enough by any stretch.

On allotments, manure has always been the organic matter of choice. My allotment site has an area of hard-standing where a local stable owner drops off bags of horse manure. It’s tends to be pretty fresh stuff and deliveries are quickly snapped up, barrowed off to plots where they await a degree of rotting before application. The amount of time allowed for rotting depends on the plot holder, with some of them pretty much putting it on in its raw, and very smelly, state. The whiff sometimes can be pretty overwhelming.

This summer’s awful weather though has meant fewer site visits and manure acquisitions and the spring and summer deliveries had built up so much that manure lady has stopped coming. Some of the pile that had built up had been there for a while and was really good stuff, well-rotted and with no hint, or whiff, of its origin. I spent some time back in September making inroads into the untouched manure. Occasionally I would get deep enough down to discover a seam of rich black matter which was quickly exploited. It was surprising how little of my plot I had managed to mulch, though. So last week, after clearing some more beds of spent crops I headed over to the pile, only to discover it had been raided. There was now only enough left for a few barrow-loads.

An empty manure pile

Persistent rain has turned quite a bit of the plot into a muddy mess and it was a slippery business transporting the manure from the pile to my plot. The grip on my wellies is so worn I was sliding all over the place. It’s also not wise to fill a wheelbarrow too full, especially when your centre of gravity is lower than most. A nifty little turning manoeuvre and the weight of the barrow nearly pulled me over into what was left of the manure pile.

Each trip took me past a fellow plotholder’s personal pile of manure. Hidden under a blue tarpaulin is a heap of truly wondrous stuff. Black, crumbly organic matter. Where he got it from initially and how long it has been there I don’t know, but when I first took on my plot, and was told about the communal manure pile, I was warned under no circumstances should I mistake the manure under the blue sheet for the communal pile. The ‘black gold’ was precious stuff and he would not be happy if anyone else helped themselves to it. And so the coveting began. I’ve got manure envy. The only time I’ve seen stuff look this good was at Charles Dowding’s farm.

Now the communal pile is bare I’ll have to look elsewhere for mulching material. I’m sure deliveries will start again at some point but this will be raw and not well-rotted. There is an alpaca farm about a 15 minute drive away and I have heard that it makes particularly good manure which doesn’t need a long time to rot down before it can be used on the ground, some even say it can be used fairly fresh without damaging plants. The problem is we don’t have a trailer and I don’t want the car to stink of alpaca poo; I fear it is a smell that would be hard to shift.

It’s not just a new source of organic matter that I’m now looking out for. Friday was a sad day as I discovered my wellies of seven years have sprung a leak. Hosing them down after a squelchy visit to the plot, the tell-tale sign of the wet sock inside told me it was time for a new pair. They’ve served me well and will remain in the shed for outdoor paint jobs but their days on the plot are numbered as I search for their replacement.

Gardening Tips

Tags

slugs, wellies

A vase of Viola cornuta rescued from the garden tidy up this weekend.

I can’t be the only untidy, slightly disorganised and clumsy gardener out there, can I? Here are just a few musings and tips you probably won’t read in a gardening book.

Occasionally, I end up at the plot with no receptacle in which to put the few raspberries I’ve spotted. I recommend not putting them in your coat pocket thinking they’ll be ok until you get home. Firstly, if you’re like me, you’ll forget and only realise once you’ve squished them or secondly, you’ll forget completely, only to discover them, several weeks later, as you produce your purse at the shop as a mouldy mess congealed in the bottom of your pocket.

I’ve discovered it’s not a good idea to put on your wellies on a hot day without any socks. The combination of hot rubber and sweaty feet creates a strange sticking action which makes it nearly impossible to remove them. Cue hopping about, straining and yanking until they finally come off with a squelching noise and the feeling that you’ve left behind a layer of skin.

Rose ‘Shropshire Lad’

Never pick up a slug with bare hands. Their slime has powers of stickiness, as yet, untapped by science. You’ll wash your hands and think they’re clean but, oh no, that goo has staying power.

Don’t forget to open your cold frame on a hot and sunny day when your shallots are drying inside it. I did, last summer, and the onion aroma that greeted me at the front door was the smell of my shallots, literally, cooking under the glass.

Standing on a rake doesn’t just happen in comic strips and silent movies. And yes, it does hurt. Particularly if you’re the same height as the rake and it smacks you right on the face.

Don’t call in at the allotment on the way back from somewhere, in smart clothes, thinking, ‘I’ll just pick something up for tea’. You won’t. There’ll be the weeds you spot that need pulling out, sweet peas that need tying in and before you know it you’re covered in mud and are those blackberry stains on your sleeve?

Heleniums bringing a touch of heat to the garden

The time you think you’ll spend on the plot, at any given time, is always a massive under-estimation of the time you’ll actually spend there. I either need to become more disciplined or adjust other commitments accordingly, so that people aren’t greeted by a slightly frazzled, dishevelled and soil encrusted individual shoving a basket of vegetables at them as I disappear off, desperate for the loo.

No matter how well I plan for a visit to the plot, with lists and post-it notes I will always forget to take something vital with me. With no shed for storage there, I increasingly look like a pack mule with my bucket for cut flowers, my trug for vegetables and a collection of containers for the harvest of various soft fruits. A bag with suncream, sun hat, raincoat, hat, scarf (delete depending on weather), tissues, my mobile, gardening gloves and the various tools such as trowel, snips, plant labels, pencil and twine that I don’t leave up there. Add in a camera for some quick shots and the liquid seaweed, possibly some fleece or netting. Well you get the picture.

Maybe it’s just me. I do hope not.

The History of the Welly

Tags

Duke of Wellington, Hunters wellies, wellies, wellington boots

My trusty wellies

Over the past few months I have become aware that not everyone knows what wellies are. Rubber boots that are designed to keep the feet dry, they are not an item of footwear that is particular to Britain but as they have been taken around the world other countries have come up with different names and this is where the word ‘wellies’ can get lost in translation. Apparently wellies are called galoshes, rain boots or rubber boots in America and Canada, gumboots or gummies in Australia, New Zealand and South Africa and are sometimes referred to as topboots in Ireland. So I thought I’d start off the New Year with a post about the history of the humble Wellington Boot.

Wellington boots are named after the Duke of Wellington. Famous for his defeat of Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815, he then went on to be head of the British Army and became Prime Minister (1828-1830).  Wellington was nicknamed ‘The Beau’ because of his immaculate appearance and fashionable dress sense, the David Beckham of the day, perhaps.

Mens’ fashion was changing at the beginning of the 19th century with a move away from wearing breeches, an item of clothing that covered a man from the waist to the knees. The material was fastened around each leg with buttons or drawstrings but wasn’t particularly practical and as a result more men started to wear trousers. However, this meant the standard footwear of the day had to also change. Wellington decided to get his shoemaker to make him some boots that were practical for the battlefield but also stylish. The resulting boot was made from soft calfskin leather and tightly fitted the leg.

The Duke of Wellington in his boots

The boots became incredibly popular with fashion conscious men of the day, such as Beau Brummell, wanting to emulate the great soldier and the boots became known as ‘Wellington Boots’ in his honour.

By the 1850s rubber had been discovered and some manufacturers were experimenting with this new material. In 1853, Hiram Hutchinson moved back to his native France after working with Charles Goodyear, the inventor of the vulcanisation of rubber. Hutchinson set up ‘A l’Aigle’ to manufacture rubber boots. At the same time, Henry Lee Norris established the North British Rubber Company in Edinburgh, Scotland which made a wide range of products including rubber boots. But it wasn’t until the First World War that the rubber wellington boot as we know it became popular when the War Office instructed the North British Rubber Company to produce hard wearing boots that could cope with the wet conditions of trench warfare. After the war wellingtons or wellies became popular with ordinary people as a wet weather boot and the North British Rubber Company eventually became Hunter Boot Ltd now manufacturing the famous Hunters wellies.

There is now a myriad of wellies available with every colour and pattern  imaginable, from short ankle boots to wellies with a heel!  In fact, although wellies are still seen as practical footwear, they have once again become fashionable. I wonder what the Duke would think of leopard patterned, wedge heeled rubber boots that carry his name today.

The Story Behind the Name

Tags

Hunters, wellies, wellywoman

Me and my wellies

Over at Garden Faerie’s Musings, Monica got to thinking what was the story behind blog names and so she has written a post encouraging people to share why they chose their blog name. I’ve loved reading about where people have taken their inspiration from, whether it be a book, a relative or the landscape around them.

So I thought I’d share with you why I became ‘wellywoman’. To answer Green Tapestry’s question about whether I have wellies permanently welded to my feet, no I don’t, although there are times here in Wales when I feel I should. There’s a reason why the countryside is so green, it does rain quite a lot.

I wanted to have wellies in my name because when I’m wearing them I’m doing something I love, whether that is working in my garden, tending the allotment or walking in the countryside. From mid March to mid October I’m probably in my wellies everyday. I used to garden in walking boots because they were so warm and comfy but they were such a pain to get off in a hurry, for example needing the toilet or to answer the phone without treading half the garden onto the kitchen floor. Invariably my jeans would get wet and muddy and I was also suffering from a lot of insect bits on my legs. And then one Christmas Wellyman got me some lovely green Hunters. Now I wouldn’t be without them.

I love going to the allotment in my scruffy jeans and wellies because it isn’t about your image and what you look like. Don’t get me wrong I like nice clothes and shoes but I am the sort of person that gets dressed up and then ladders my tights and leans against something ending up with a dirty mark on my dress or cuts my finger but doesn’t realise until I’ve left a trail of blood over my clothes. I was in awe of Joanna Lumley and the white trousers she wore for her travels around Greece for her recent TV programme. I think I’m more of a paint and mud splattered jeans and wellies kind of girl.

I was actually going to be ‘wellygirl’ but discovered someone from Wellington, New Zealand already had this name. Although they hadn’t posted on their blog for a long time which miffed me slightly. So that’s when ‘wellywoman’ came about. To be honest, I’m in my mid thirties now so ‘girl’ was probably stretching it a bit anyway.

So that’s the story behind ‘wellywoman’. I just want to say thanks to Garden Faerie for this great idea. Why not go over to her blog and share the story behind your name.

Winter blues

Tags

Angie Lewin, garden birds, hearty stews, linocut, wellies, winter blues, wintry weather

Well the clocks changed this weekend so the long dark nights are here and although it may be unseasonally mild at the moment cold, wintry weather probably isn’t too far off. I don’t like winter. I’ll admit it has it’s moments. I do love those cold, crisp days where the sky is so blue and frost has touched every surface making even the most mundane of objects look beautiful. There are the birds that visit my garden, birds that for the rest of the year seek their food from other places. I love the lights and decorations of Christmas and the warm hearty stews that my body craves. But, and it is a fairly big but, I hate being indoors. I get restless, I’m an outdoors girl at heart. Much as I love snuggling up in front of my woodburner, given the choice I would swap it like a shot for a warm day in my garden or on my plot. I don’t do being confined in my house all day very well, as Wellyman will testify. Wellywoman doesn’t want to hang up the wellies for long.

So what can I do to get through the next couple of months before the days start to get longer, bulbs start to push through and Spring sunshine lights up the sky. Well I don’t want to wish time away. I, like many people, utter the phrase ‘there’s never enough time in the day’ on a frequent basis. Well I’m going to make a list, a Winter list of all those things that I say I never have time for and I’m going to see if I can use these dark nights and inclement days to do them. (When I say I haven’t time for them I think what I mean is I would just rather be doing something else i.e in the garden or on the plot).

So rather than grabbing packets of seeds that take my fancy at the garden centre I’m going to study my seed catalogues this year and come up with a proper plan of what to grow.

I’m going to spend time planning my allotment so that I get maximum efficiency from the space next year.

I’m going to go through my old seeds and anything I don’t want, I’m going to donate to my local community garden.

I’m going to go through my cook books and try out new recipes. Most people only cook a few recipes from each cook book they own and I’m no different, so I’m going to add a few more tasty meals to my repetoire.

And finally I’m going to learn a craft. I would love to able to capture my love of all things plant-like in some way.  At the moment I’m thinking linocuts. I love Angie Lewin, an artist who is inspired by nature. So I’d like to give something like that a try.

So, hopefully these should keep me busy and keep the Winter blues at bay and then it won’t belong before snowdrops and daffodils are on their way.

Should have stayed in bed

Tags

allotment, forget-me-nots, garden, wellies

There are few places I’d rather be than my garden or allotment but just occasionally that relaxing day doesn’t turn out quite as I would have hoped…

1. My foray into the border to plant up some forget-me-nots is curtailed by the neighbour’s cat that has used the newly mulched border as a litter tray. Fortunately wellies and gloves remain clean but I go off in search of a carrier bag to remove the offending item. Of course I can’t find any carrier bags because I’m helping to save the planet, so I eventually find a freezer bag….that will have to do.
2. After planting up the forget-me-nots I return their pots to the shed. But the pots are all stacked quite precariously and adding any further pots results in an avalanche of plastic and half an hour of reconstruction into a hopefully more sturdy structure.
3.  I eventually get round to the main job I had planned to do – potting on some seedlings but because my shed multi-tasks at this time of year as a log store I find myself sitting on the path outside the shed pricking out.   Unfortunately, I’m pretty clumsy anyway and whilst tidying up I knock over several pots and squish a couple of seedlings.
4. I remember to water in the forget-me-nots and newly potted up seedlings (I have been known to get distracted and forget to water newly planted plants only to remember later that night so I end up watering in my pyjamas and wellies with a torch). I don’t, however remember that the hose pipe nozzle was damaged by the frost last winter and has developed little holes along one side of the nozzle. This results in an unusual, and always surprising, sideways squirting of water along the length of the nozzle before the user can get to twist the nozzle enough so that water actually comes out the front . Damp jeans (mmm…. lovely!) generally results. So what should have been a little bit of gentle pottering has taken 3 times longer than it should have done and I wouldn’t say I feel relaxed as I go off muttering about cats, hosepipes and needing a bigger shed. Fortunately days like these are rare, which is just as well really.